“What do you mean?” said Jack. “Do you mean to hint that Stephen isn’t to be relied upon?”
“I haven’t the honor of knowing much of Mr. Davenant,” said Leonard, “and so can’t say whether he is more reliable than most public men who promise places and appointments; but I do know that men have grown gray-headed while waiting for one of those said places.”
“You don’t know Stephen,” said Jack, confidently. “He can manage anything he likes to set his mind on. He is not one of my sort. He can’t let the grass grow under his feet. There, stop croaking, and come and dine at the Square.”
And Leonard would go, for he and Una had, as Jack said, “cottoned to one another.”
Una felt all sorts of likings and gratitude for the man who had always been Jack’s friend, and none of the jealousy which some girls feel for their lover’s bachelor acquaintances.
“I am sure he is good and true, Jack,” she said.
“Good! There isn’t a better man in England,” Jack affirmed. “And he’s as true as steel. Poor old Len!”
“Why do you pity him?” said Una, who had not altogether lost her way of asking direct questions.
“Well, you see, there’s a lot of romance about Len,” said Jack; and he told her about Leonard’s meeting with Laura Treherne.
“And he has never found her?” said Una.